The Fever
by Miratete
Summary: Welcome to Kazham, a lush, tropical paradise.  When Rauteinot, the missionary from San d'Oria, contracts a local malady, his hidden past comes to light and his bitter present unravels.
1. Chapter 1

**The Fever – Part 1**

"Gatih! Gatih!" The door burst open with more than the usual energy of the shop's customers or idle adventurers, throwing in a brown-haired Mithra. "Gatih! Gatih are you here?" she said frantically.

"I'm here," Gatih Mijurabi called from the back, pausing from her work. "What is it?"

"Gatih!" The anxious girl stumbled to the workbench where Gatih was powdering Colibri eggshells for one of her medicines. "It's that Elvaan priest. There's something wrong with him."

"Hmmm? He was in here yesterday for something to ease a headache." She turned to see Milcha, one of girls who worked nearby.

"He's sick. Really sick. He fainted on my porch."

Gatih set aside the mortar and pestle. "Really? What happened?"

"I was just inside my house when he came to the door. He rents the house next to me. The door was open and he asked me for some juice. And then he said he was cold and wondered if I had an extra blanket or a cloak he could borrow. I thought it was odd, but I did go get him a blanket, and when I came back he had fallen unconscious on my porch. I tried to get him up, but he felt so hot I was afraid to touch him."

Gatih pinched her lower lip between her teeth. "Kazham Fever." She pulled a basket from beneath the counter, the "fever basket" she called it. "Let's go."

When they got to Milcha's house, there were three other Mithra standing around staring down at the robed figure. Gatih knelt beside Rauteinot and placed a hand on his face. She was the closest thing to a doctor that Kazham had, and was always the one called when someone was ill or injured. The man's skin was hot and sweaty to the touch, and he groaned when she laid her hand on his cheek. "I'm cold" he said weakly, his eyes opening halfway.

"Let's get him home," she ordered, and the five women struggled to half-drag, half-carry his limp and uncooperative form to the house behind Milcha's.

The house he rented was sparsely furnished, and the Mithran hammock had been replaced by a bed of mainland manufacture. Ungracefully they got him into it, despite his protests when they pulled off his boots, despite his clawing to get the blankets over him even before he was all the way in, despite his complaints that all these savages were in his house and worse yet in his bedroom. They giggled and shuffled out obligingly.

Gatih claimed a spot on the table and began mixing together the various powders she used to treat Kazham Fever. "I don't know why it's taken you so long to catch it," she said to him, not really caring if he was listening to her or not. "Everyone who lives here comes down with it, unless you were born here."

In response Rauteinot mumbled something about a statue, barely coherent.

Gatih found a cup in the kitchen area and emptied the first dose of powders into it, then dissolved them with a bit of water from the cistern. Into another cup she placed a small cloth bag of various herbs and bark, covering it with boiling water to steep. Rauteinot was shivering when she forced him to sit up for the first drink. "What's this?" he asked quietly

"Warm tea," she lied. "The faster you drink it, the warmer you'll feel."

The Elvaan put the cup to his lips and it was empty in two swallows. "More," he gasped.

"Good," she smiled, handing him the bitter herbal tea. "Drink this fast, too."

He obeyed, but then screwed up his face and fell back against the pillows on the bed. "That tasted wrong. What did you give me?"

"The first doses of medication. You'll feel a lot better," she lied again. He would not feel better until after the "burning day" had passed. But the medications would help to break the fever sooner now that he had been treated.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked, his voice wavering.

Gatih was surprised. It was the first thing she had ever heard him say without sounding all arrogant. "You have Kazham Fever. It won't kill you, but you'll be sick for a few days."

He sighed and tried to draw the blankets up higher around his neck. "I need an Elvaan doctor. You'll have to get one from San d'Oria for me, from the cathedral. Please get one for me," he begged.

"All right," she agreed, still knowing that there was nothing any doctor could do any better than she could in this case. "I'll have one sent for."

"Thank you," he whispered with all sincerity.

At some point in the night, Milcha shook Gatih awake. "The burning day, it's started already."

Gatih threw her arm over her eyes. "What time is it?"

"About two."

Gatih attempted to roll over in her hammock. "Just push him into the ocean. That will cool him down."

Milcha tugged on the healer's arm. "Please come. I'm scared."

Gatih sighed sleepily. She had set Milcha to watching over the Elvaan until the burning day, coming over now and then herself to give him the medicines. "All right, all right." She rose and dressed, taking with her the fever basket's mate, the burning day basket.

The priest had lain quietly for the better part of the past day, but now he rolled and shifted in his bed as if he were desperate to get comfortable. His robes had been tossed off frantically, turned inside-out and gracing the footboard. His cowl and trousers lay twisted across the floor. Only a thin sheet and a layer of sweat covered him as he squirmed in the bed.

Gatih had brought a pail of cold spring-water with her, and with this she soaked several small towels, laying them on Rauteinot's head for comfort. Pushing back the sheet, more found places on his chest. The writhing slowed and the cold gray eyes opened to take her in. "You again," he said weakly. "Your medications didn't work."

"Nothing cures Kazham Fever. You should know that. All I can do is soften the symptoms."

"Has the doctor from San d'Oria arrived yet?"

Gatih began to rotate the wet towels with fresher ones from the bucket. "Not yet. As soon as he does we'll bring him here."

"And then he'll show you savages what to do."

Gatih sighed. The priest always seemed to think of them as being only one step above the Beastmen, if that. She lay a cold towel over his eyes and wondered if she should tie him. It was common practice to fix the sufferer's hammock around him on the burning day, for soon the hallucinations and madness would begin.

And it did begin, with the Elvaan crying out as the light rose in the window, the beginning of the new day. "Etaunie. Etaunie, wake up." Rauteinot said, shaking Gatih gently with a flopping hand. "You've stayed too long. It's dawn already."

Blearily Gatih opened her eyes, finding she had fallen asleep in the bedside chair, a wet towel soaking her lap.

The Elvaan was propped up precariously on his arm, fumbling about the bedsheets as if looking for something. "I can't find my surcoat. It must be around here somewhere." Towels lay scattered all around.

"Shhhhh. Lie down, " Gatih told him.

"I have to go. You know drills start just after sunrise." His hand hooked his cowl.

Gatih tried to get him to lie back down, but he continued looking about the bed and trying to rise, obviously much weakened by the fever. His skin burned to the touch.

"It's Lightsday," Gatih announced. "There are no drills today," she said, taking a wild guess.

Rauteinot, who now had been attempting to get his cowl on with one hand, paused. "That's right. Lightsday." With that he collapsed back onto the bed, his cowl half on.

"So you were once a soldier," Gapih whispered to herself.

"No drills..." he mumbled. "Come back to bed, Love."

"Love?" Gatih puzzled. In the fever and hallucinations of the burning day, the sufferer often relived old memories, or found himself where he had been many years before. Once she had been at the bedside of a former actor, who relived all of his great roles in a private performance. On another occasion a lady Tarutaru revealed how she had cheated her way through the academy of magic. And then there was the time an Elvaan mumbled on and on about the lost city of the Tavnazians. And now Rauteinot, the sour-faced Elvaan cleric, was revealing something that no one in Kazham would have ever guessed.

Gatih helped the priest get comfortable, arranging a pillow beneath his head. She knew she should not pry into the man's past, but could not resist. "Do you like the drills?"

"No, and you know that too," he mumbled, and sighed heavily. "I'm good at them though."

"I'll bet you're the best."

"Possibly. I don't watch the others."

She replaced the towel on his forehead. "You're so handsome in your armor."

And he smiled, something Gapih had never seen in all the time he had lived in their village. "I'm glad you think so. You know that I think of you when I'm wearing it. And once I'm out of this accursed service I'll still wear it for you if you like."

Gatih wished she could remember the name he had called when he first woke.

Suddenly his hand pulled at her wrist. "Come back to bed, Love," he said sweetly.

Gatih was about to pull away in protest, but found him looking at her with an expression that befitted nothing other than what he had just called her. He was in love, at least he had been once, long ago, long before he ever set foot in Kazham. His eyes now glistened with tenderness and his thin lips wore a soft smile. He was someone different now, someone younger, someone with hope in his heart and optimism in his dreams. With his scowl gone, he looked gentle and kindly. His lips touched her hand.

Gatih could not help herself, but sat on the bedside, allowing his arms to weakly encircle her waist, transfixed by the change in him. The abnormal heat of his body poured right through her clothes. Catching herself in this distraction, she exchanged the towel on his forehead for a fresh one. "I love you so much," he sighed, squeezed her waist, and then fell back into unconsciousness.

Dawn came and went, and Gatih woke again to find herself still in the priest's arms, only now she lay alongside him in the bed, his naked body pressed against hers, his hot breath tickling the hairs on her neck. Despite the guilt that prodded at her, she felt wonderful, and childishly giddy. It had been perhaps a decade since she'd been in a man's arms, and the long-forgotten excitement now charged through her veins and electrified her passions. The long-suppressed pull of passionate need suddenly ached again in her fingers and stomach and thighs.

But in between the excavated feelings were the pangs of guilt. No. Nothing had happened. She was still fully dressed as well. A few kisses and he had slipped back into the fiery unconsciousness. But still, what if someone had found her in bed with him? Teasing and shame would only follow, even though one always expected strange behaviors and statements to come out of the burning day, His disconnected mind had reconnected with the memory of a long-ago lover.

Rauteinot stirred and fell away from her, his lips moving. "Etaunie? Etaunie, don't go. Don't leave me, Etaunie."

So that was the name he had woken her with. Gatih extracted herself from the bed and once again placed a cool towel on his head, the fever not yet broken. Her clothes were quite damp from his sweat and clung to her. She tossed off her tunic and hung it over the chair to dry out a bit. "Poor thing," she sighed. He seemed so helpless and vulnerable now, his body racked with fever and his mind somewhere else. Had she not known, she never would have guessed that he was the stubborn, unbending priest that called them heathens and spoke contemptuously of their ways. Now he could be anyone else, lying naked save for a rumpled sheet and a dripping towel on his forehead, mumbling in his delirium for some girl named Etaunie.

Gatih mixed the next dose of medication with a bit of pineapple juice. The sugar would give him a bit of energy and cover the taste of the powdered firebloom now added to the mix.

She sat once more beside the bed and woke him enough to drink, which he did without troubling her. And then he handed back he cup with that smile of love on his face again.

Gatih bit her lip.

She rinsed out the cup and locked the door.

Hours later, the old Rauteinot returned. Despite his weakness and the favor she had just done him, he was angry. He had woken from the burning day, his fever broken, to find the Mithra in his bed with him, his arms around her, himself unclothed and her only half-dressed. "Shameful savage!" he cursed. "How dare you take advantage of me like that!" He began to cough from the exertion.

Calmly Gatih put her shoes and tunic back on and went to the table to prepare his final dose of the medicine.

"May Altana forgive your heathen lusts and lack of morals, for I've not been able to teach you to behave."

Gatih tried to ignore his accusations as the tirade continued in a wavering voice. He might condemn her here, but his thin lips would be sealed the moment he left the house. Whatever the reason, he would never confess to whatever he thought had happened.

But nothing had happened for which she could be held accountable. He had kissed her and embraced her and called her sweet things. His sickly state had kept it at that, regardless of whatever he had once enjoyed with Etaunie. She handed him the cup, which he drank from hesitatingly.

"Disgusting Mithra, taking advantage of a sick man to satisfy yourself," he continued, wiping off his lips with the corner of his sheet.

Gatih grimaced, and then turned back to him, trying not to let his insults and accusations get the better of her, but she had something to say perhaps more powerful than any nasty things she could call him. "You called me 'Etaunie' and asked me to join you in bed," she said calmly.

As expected, the statement had the effect of a slap to the face.

He stared at her, his eyes wide and panicked. And then he collapsed back to the bed with a sigh. "Please forget that name," he said softly. "I'm sorry. Just forget it."

Gatih gathered up the last of her things, put her tunic back on, and turned to leave. "Your doctor should be coming in on this afternoon's flight. I'll send him here when he arrives." And with that she was gone.

FFXI and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of SquareEnix. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Fever - Part 2**

Gatih Mijurabi had not been out long when she spotted Rauteinot coming along the rocks toward her. His blue priest's robe could not be mistaken for anything else. She sighed, wondering what he would demean her for now. She took a deep breath, raised her defenses, and resolved that whatever harangue he had planned it would not make any difference to her. She squatted down beside a large tidepool, scanning the shallow water for the snails she needed to brew a certain cough remedy.

Rauteinot sat on the rocks close to her and pulled off his cowl, mopping his brow with it. The afternoon had been a hot one, and though evening was approaching, the heat lingered. "Miss Gatih, I've come to apologize."

"Oh? For what?" she mumbled, trying to sound disinterested.

"You took care of me when I really needed it, and I was ungrateful. I'm ashamed of myself for that."

"You acted like you always do." Her hand pawed through the seawater.

"I know," he groaned, honestly regretful of his behavior. "I've not been very friendly, ever since I came here."

Gatih spotted one of the rosy colored snails she sought, plucked it from the side of the pool, and tossed it into her bucket.

"I want to change all that. I've been so cold towards and judgmental of your people, and there was no reason for it. I let the bitterness in my heart get the best of me."

Gatih suddenly realized that the man wasn't just talking. For once he had something to say, and as far as she could tell it was with full honesty, the honesty of a broken man. Men would keep their feelings or thoughts bottled up inside them for years, even decades, and then when they felt that the right audience had been found, the confessions would suddenly come spilling out. Kazham Fever could break the bottle, scattering memories about here and there. Done voluntarily, the confession came with an uncorking and then a pouring forth of the secrets and sins.

She dried off her hands on her trousers and sat beside him. "You know you don't have to be friendly. We take you as you are."

"And I realize now that I could have done so much better. All these years, no one has cared about me or what I'm doing here." He sounded on the verge of tears. "I hated Kazham and I hated you Mithra and I hated my mission."

"So why did you come here in the first place?"

"The cathedral sent me, but I would have hated anywhere they sent me. I don't know why I haven't killed myself yet, because more than Kazham or the Papsque or the Vicasque or anything I hate myself.

"But you loved Etaunie."

He stiffened in shock, and then the tears welled in his eyes.

"I know. You told me to forget that name." Her tone was apologetic.

Rauteinot buried his face in his folded arms. "I did love her."

"So what happened?"

"I told the Cathedral to send me as far away from San d'Oria as possible. And they did. And I thought that escaping San d'Oria would let me forget everything."

"What were you trying to forget?"

"Her. Etaunie. I was trying to forget her." He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

Gatih placed her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "Who was she?"

"We were kids back in San d'Oria. Neighbors. I was crazy about her. And I would have done anything for her. I was going to be a carpenter like my father, and take over his business eventually with my brother. But she wanted me to be a soldier, and I knew she meant it for the way she always admired the knights. So I signed up with the Temple Knights, and I did well. I earned several promotions fairly quickly and my family was even proud of me too. And then...and then they sent me away on outpost duty, standing guard pointlessly over some flag in a desert. It was supposed to be just for a short time, only a few months, but the relief never came, and we ended up there over a year, until a delegation of War Warlocks came to take our place and hoist their own flag."

"And when you came back...?"

"Yes. She'd found someone else. And I'd been so hopeful. I'd written her letters and told her that when it was over I'd have enough pay to buy us a little house and we could marry. I should have known something was wrong when she stopped writing after a while." His hand balled into an angry fist. "My old drill sergeant even."

Gatih squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You held fast to what you were sworn to do."

"So I left the military because I hated what they'd done to me. And I don't know why I joined the church. I was so angry and hurt, I guess I thought maybe I'd find an answer there. But here I am now." He buried his face into his arms again. Maybe I can find some redemption before I mess everything up here."

She linked her arm with his. "You are a man of great perseverance and honor. She was a fool not to wait for you."

Gatih sat quietly with him, saying nothing for a long time. The sun sank toward the horizon and they watched the sky turn from blue to orange. "We should head back. I don't have a light."

"All right," he agreed, not really knowing what he wanted to do.

"Come back to my place. I'll make you some dinner, and I have a bottle of something hidden away. We'll get you good and drunk and you can forget everything for at least a little while."

"I'm not supposed to drink. I took a vow of sobriety and I've not touched anything since."

"I'm guessing that you also took a vow of chastity."

Rauteinot was flustered, and a blush even showed across his face. "Look...I...I didn't realize..."

Gatih interrupted with a peal of laughter. "You didn't do anything but kiss me. You were so weak with the fever you couldn't even sit up."

Rauteinot paused, suddenly realizing that his guilt was the product of his own fears and imagination. "You mean nothing happened?"

She shook her head and began walking back toward Kazham. "Nothing."

He breathed a sigh of relief and followed her back to town.

FFXI and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of SquareEnix. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


	3. Chapter 3

The Fever – Part 3

"Hello! We're back!" came the loud call from the forest.

The children dropped their sanding blocks and ran out to the landing. A Galka and two Elvaan men stood at the water's edge, a raft of logs in their care. Rauteinot followed behind the children, brushing the sawdust from his apron and trousers. Another man emerged from the house, his hair beginning to gray and the tips of his long ears ever so slightly starting to droop. In his arms he cradled a tiny Mithra kitten, its eyes still not open.

"The baby! The new baby came!" squealed the children as they reached the raft. The Galka opened his arms and grabbed both of them, lifting them up in a big muscly hug.

"What did they name the baby?" he asked.

"They named her Coullene."

"Yeah, Coullene, after Grammy."

"An Elvaan name? Well I suppose."

The older man brought the kitten down the bank to show the others, a blonde-haired slip of a Mithra with faint tan stripes across her face. Despite their rough appearance, the men fawned over the baby and all insisted on holding her, including the Galka. And after they all had a chance to hold her, Rauteinot insisted that the poor little thing be taken back into to the house before she got cold or someone sneezed on her or a Goblin kidnapped her.

His father clapped him on the shoulder as the baby was taken inside. "I was the same way when you were born, but I have to say your kitten is the prettier."

Rauteinot punched his father playfully in the shoulder. "Thanks. So is Gatih still resting?"

"Still asleep. The midwife said she'd spend most of this week asleep. Your sister's with her now."

"Good. Hey, I'm just going to pick up a little in the shop and then I'll be in for lunch."

"Done with that cabinet?"

"Almost. Giving it the final sanding now."

"Nice. I'm looking forward to varnishing it. See you inside." He turned and headed up the bank himself.

Rauteinot sighed happily, watching everyone disappear into the house—his brother, his brother-in-law, the hired man, his nieces, his father, and now most importantly, his day-old baby. The past was just that, the past. And for the first time in years things seemed to be right in his life. The Mithran healer had not found a cure for Kazham fever, but she had found a cure for his miserable life.

End of Story

FFXI and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of SquareEnix. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


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